


Rusalka

by Slow_Burn_Sally



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, John On John Action, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Misunderstandings, Pining, Repressed Feelings, Romance, Slow-ish burn, Spells & Enchantments, vague descriptions of sexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24725062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally
Summary: It is a hot late summer day when Childermass tells Segundus of a cold brook lying near Starecross Hall that would be just perfect for cooling one's feet. Segundus investigates and fairy mischief ensues.
Relationships: John Childermass/John Segundus
Comments: 29
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hate summer. HATE IT. I live in a party town, visited by throngs of people, and it's noisy and hot and crowded and for an introvert who can't stand the heat, it's pretty much miserable. So, I've decided to hide in my apartment in the air conditioning and write a hot, sweaty, enchanted, summertime johnsquared fic. I will update characters and tags as they pop up. 
> 
> Thanks as always to emilycare my clever and steadfast beta reader. Thank you so much for the plot ideas! And for inadvertently providing me with the title. <3

It was a warm evening in late August. Fireflies rose and faded like floating embers above a campfire and crickets provided a constant rhythmic susurrus in the woods surrounding Starecross Hall. The male students, hot and sweating and red faced, had decided to sleep out in the garden on piles of sheets and blankets in order to take advantage of the somewhat cool evening breezes. The female students however were forced to keep to their rooms out of necessity, as their chaperones refused to sleep on the ground like common beggars. 

Mr. Segundus, whose room was on the second storey of Starecross Hall, found the heat intolerable, and had taken to sleeping on a truckle bed in the main sitting room, where the air moved more easily and the mugginess was not so oppressive. He felt that being the school’s headmaster made him ineligible to sleep in the garden, if he were to maintain the air of respectability and authority he’d managed to cultivate among his students. That, and he detested waking up covered in morning dew. Mr. Segundus, being slight, did not feel the heat as badly as some, but after several weeks of still, damp air and the chaffing of skin against sweat slick clothing, he was beginning to grow quite fed up with it. 

Vinculus, for he was staying at Starecross with Childermass and also feeling the heat, had taken to walking about half dressed. This caused all manner of hubbub among the maids and serving girls, who shrieked and fled when they saw him sauntering here and there with his arms and chest and belly exposed. The female students (of which there were three) were not at all shocked or intimidated, as they longed to get a peek at the King’s Book, but their chaperones, middle aged aunties and governesses, were horrified. When it was impressed upon him that he must remain at least somewhat clothed while wandering the hallways and grounds of Starecross, Vinculus grumbled that someone was always after him to remove his clothes and now they were nagging at him to put them back on. He relented however and donned a ragged vest in a nod to propriety. 

Everyone was quite miserable with the heat. Everyone except John Childermass that is. He seemed to have a way of ignoring physical discomforts as a matter of course. He bore rain, snow and wind with steadfast resolve, never complaining, and indeed never exhibiting a sign of inconvenience. He did not shiver, nor did he seem to sweat overly much, and he ignored cuts, bruises and other painful physical discomforts with steady resolve. 

Segundus envied him his stoicism. Childermass possessed a surety of thought and action that try as he may, John Segundus could never hope to emulate. Segundus was a flighty man with a delicate constitution, and his thoughts and feelings often seemed to assail him out of the blue, without his permission and without the slightest knowledge from whence they came.

It was not that Segundus was dull or unimaginative. Quite the contrary. He had a vivid and varied imagination, and he had been told that he was an excellent conversationalist. He was a good writer and an above average teacher. The students adored him, or so Mrs. Lennox often insisted, and they did seem to smile brightly at him as he greeted them in the mornings when classes began, and came to him often for assistance. It was only that he felt everything so strongly, and that every feeling was displayed upon his features plainly for all to see. He could no more hide the fact that he was sad or angry, cold or tired or hot than he could hide his thinness or paleness, or the strands of silver at his dark temples. He was a man of obvious temperaments and transparent needs. 

By comparison, Childermass, with his great black coat and battered hat, his face always set in an expression of neutral watchfulness or cynical amusement...Childermass revealed nothing. His presence was much like that of his great, silent horse, Brewer. Steady, calm, unflappable. Segundus had never heard the man truly yell, had never seen his brow crease with anguished worry, nor had he seen him smile, not more than the sly, one sided grin that made a rare appearance now and then.

That grin, that crept along the side of Childermass’ face like a shadow of a cat along the top of a wall, made Segundus’ insides go funny. There was an electric charge he felt in the air whenever he and Childermass were in the same room. Segundus attributed the shivering, sparking feeling to the presence of magic, which Childermass seemed practically steeped in. To his dismay, John Segundus seemed to have something of an allergy to magic. He could do many of the simpler spells with no ill effects, but when he tried to enact more complex incantations, he would be struck with a sharp aching in his head and his eyes would go blurry. This did not however stop him from doing them, and then having to have a cup of tea or a lie down after.

Childermass on the other hand, had the privilege to call himself a real, practical magician. He could execute many spells, at all levels of difficulty with ease. Segundus would not lie and say that he was not more than a little envious of Childermass’ skill, but, strangely, it was Childermass’ stoic nature that he envied even more. Oh how Mr. Segundus longed to be strong and steady and unreadable! Oh how he longed to be dark and mysterious. Rather than pale and beset with minor illnesses. Rather than slight of frame and wan of complexion and endlessly, ceaselessly transparent with his feelings. 

Perhaps it was this dichotomy that drew him to want to spend more time in Childermass’ company. The fascination one often feels for a person or thing that is so very contrary to oneself. How the homeliest girl always seemed to choose the prettiest friend to spend all her time with, or how the of tallest of men always found himself married to the smallest of women. Or, in the way that Mr. Strange, bawdy, friendly, generous and confident had seemed to take well to the company of Mr. Norrell, a stodgy miser who abhorred the company of anyone other than a small group of close acquaintances. 

Such contradictions abounded in the world did they not? Those of contradictory temperaments often felt drawn to one another, out of mutual curiosity if nothing else. Regardless of the cause, Segundus found himself drifting inexorably toward whatever part of the house Childermass occupied. At first, he had not been aware of it. It appeared that rather than he following Childermass, it was Childermass who followed him. How else could Segundus explain why the man seemed to be lurking around every corner, sitting in every room. But, being a clever man and realizing that Childermass was always encountered while stationary (sitting in the library inspecting Vinculus’ skin, sitting in the kitchen, having coffee and toast in the mornings, brushing Brewer down in the stables), and that it was _Segundus_ who was the one who was walking about. Segundus was the one who kept bumping into Childermass, not the other way around. 

During these chance meetings, Segundus often found excuses to linger. He would ask Childermass questions about how the translation of the King’s Book was coming along and would be greeted with a few vague words about not much of substance. He would remark on the height of Brewer’s shoulder and ask if he were part greathorse with how tall and strong he was. Childermass would smirk and reply that he did not know. These interactions often left Segundus feeling as if something were missing or lacking. Some warmth and camaraderie perhaps? Some spark that temptingly glimmered on the edge of blowing itself into the cheery flame of a complete conversation. But alas, not much happened. 

Why did Segundus wish to speak to Childermass more often and with more familiarity? He supposed that it was to do with that envy he held inside for the other man’s concrete will and steady resolve, for his silent confidence in all the things he did...and for his magical prowess. In his heart of hearts, Segundus wanted very much to emulate John Childermass. But there was more...more to this magnetic pull that tugged him in Childermass’ direction whenever the man spent time at Starecross Hall. Something in Childermass’ soft brown eyes and the cynical twist of his mouth that made Segundus feel seen and known and pierced to his core.

Now, lying on his warm truckle bed, in the warm sitting room, he tried to relax deeply enough to let his body cool, but his consideration of the differences between himself and Childermass were not making this an easy task. He felt a curious nervousness fill up his belly and spread outward to his limbs, and it seemed to make complete relaxation impossible. 

So, rather than lay there in the heat, feeling anxious and half suffocated, he rose and headed to the kitchen. The flagstones that paved the kitchen floor were infinitesimally cooler against his bare feet than the wooden floors of the sitting room, and there was a bucket of well water on the counter for those who required a drink in the night. Segundus used the ladle to pour himself a cup of water and gulped it down, then, impulsively, he drew another ladleful and stepped into the night, out onto the grassy ground immediately outside the kitchen door. Without taking the time to reconsider the appropriateness of such an act, he emptied the ladle of water over his head. 

Warm water sluiced across his scalp, drenching his hair and dribbling onto the white of his nightshirt, causing spreading translucent patches to appear on the shoulders and front of the garment. Segundus returned the ladle to the bucket, fighting the urge to dump the entire thing over his head, then stepped back outside and ran fingers through his now wet hair. Instantly, the night breezes, small and barely stirring the tops of the grass became cooler and more affecting. He sighed happily and took a moment to enjoy the feeling of the cooler air brushing against his wet head and shoulders and how it cooled the rivulets of water that ran down his face and dripped from his chin. He felt silly, for dumping water over one’s head was not the act of a gentleman of his age and bearing, a school master no less, but being that it was insufferably muggy, he felt allowances should be made for the sake of necessity. 

A noise behind him made him turn and he was confronted with the dark silhouette of Childermass, standing in the kitchen doorway. 

Segundus stepped back with a soft gasp and reflexively gathered the opening at the top of his nightshirt about him in a clenched fist, as if to hide its wet, disheveled appearance from Childermass’ eyes. He felt a stab of vulnerability and nervousness prickle along the length of his spine, and he felt quite silly indeed with his hair wet and dripping with well water.

“Mr Childermass!” he greeted the other man in a voice that was a bit louder than necessary. “You gave me a bit of a fright, coming up all silently.”

“I did not mean to startle you,” Childermass replied, his voice a deep rumble as he stepped out onto the grass beside Segundus. He lifted his pipe to his mouth, issuing a puff of white smoke that momentarily obscured Segundus’ view of his face in the light pooling from the kitchen lantern. He was, Segundus observed, in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, his hair tied back messily with a leather thong to keep it out of his eyes (though much of it always escaped its bounds anyway to fall carelessly about his face). His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. “I only meant to step outside for a smoke,” he said, and after a brief pause during which his eyes took in Segundus’ appearance, “you look a bit wet sir.” 

“Oh! Oh yes. Silly me,” Segundus replied, wiping a hand over his face to clear away the drops that still clung to his forehead and nose and mouth, licking his lips nervously. “I dumped a ladle full of well water over my head in an attempt to find some relief from this abominable heat.” He shrugged, grinning at his own foolishness in the face of Childermass’ usual placid stoicism. “It was the only way I could see to cool off.”

Childermass was silent for a moment, and continued puffing on his pipe, sending small clouds of smoke drifting out over the dark garden. The students were around the side of the house and out of sight or sound, and all that could be heard was the constant chorus of crickets and the peeping of summertime frogs, carrying on an endless courtship in the bushes and out beneath the canopy of the woods nearby. Segundus had just stopped expecting a response, when Childermass spoke up again. 

“Did you know that there is a brook not too far off from here?” He asked, glancing sideways at Segundus and raising his brows a little. “I discovered it on one of my many rides around these lands, and it is quite a pretty little thing. Babbling and clear and quite cold, even in the height of summer. If a person wished to cool themself, perhaps standing in such a brook, or even bathing in it, were a person so inclined, would be an excellent way to do so.” 

“A brook? I admit sir that I did not know there was such a thing nearby. Though to be fair, I have not done much exploring.”

“Yes,” replied Childemass, shrugging and tapping his pipe out against the kitchen steps. “It is only perhaps a quarter mile’s walk due east. If you were to head that way in the morning hours, you would surely come upon it before too long.”

“Well, thank you sir for the recommendation. I shall investigate it as soon as I am able,” Segundus said, feeling touched that Childermass would offer him a solution for his physical discomfort. 

Childermass nodded once, then turned and went back inside, and Segundus, feeling somehow hotter than before he’d doused himself in well water, followed him. “Are not you and Vinculus too warm in your rooms upstairs?” he asked, padding after Childermass through the kitchen, his damp feet slapping gently on the flagstones. 

“We will manage. We have both slept under far worse circumstances.” 

Segundus nodded, remembering a few choice stories about Vinculus sleeping under hedges in wintertime and Childermass sleeping atop Brewer through all sorts of weather. “Be that as it may,” he pressed, not wanting to seem a poor host, “it must be frightfully hot in your rooms. Please know that if it becomes too uncomfortable that you are more than welcome to sleep down here, in the sitting room with me…. The both of you,” he added quickly. 

“Thank you Mr. Segundus sir, but we will be fine. Vinculus snores like a broken bellows and I am the only man or beast who can sleep near him without being woken every few moments. We shall stay in our rooms.” 

“Ah, I understand,” Segundus wandered over to his truckle bed and prepared to lie down again, to bid Childermass a good evening, but the man paused before heading for the staircase. 

“I know a spell to cool the sheets of your bed,” he said, his eyes trained on the pipe that he turned over and over in his calloused hands. “It will last a few hours. I can teach it to you if you’d like.” 

Segundus felt a jolt of excitement run through him. _A new spell! And such a useful one at that!_ “Oh yes please Mr. Childermass. That would be helpful indeed!” 

Childermass grinned at Segundus’ enthusiasm, but it was a warm grin, without a hint of condescension. He stepped back into the sitting room and put his pipe down on a nearby table. “It’s quite simple really,” he began, and proceeded to show Segundus the three hand motions and teach him the words of the spell. It was indeed simple, and Segundus’ fear of looking inadequate by being unable to do it in front of Childermass evaporated quickly as he executed the spell perfectly the first time. He then bent to touch the sheets of his truckle bed and found them pleasingly cool, as if a chill autumn wind had blown through them just moments before. 

“What a blessing this is! Thank you Mr. Childermass! Would it be alright if I teach it to the students as part of tomorrow’s lesson?” Childermass replied that certainly it would be, and then he bid Segundus goodnight. Segundus settled into his now much cooler sheets with a happy sigh and was soon fast asleep. 

…

  
  


The next morning dawned a little cooler than usual, but it was still quite hot. Segundus was already sweating as he dressed and did his morning toilet up in his rooms, and the sun had barely made it above the horizon. His mind went back to Childermass’ words from the previous night, that there was a refreshing brook a short distance from Starecross Hall, and that to dip one's feet in it would be a good way to keep the heat at bay. 

He decided to take an early morning walk to go in search of this stream and see if it was all it was made out to be. After walking for a time due east, over a few small hills and through a copse of birch trees, tall and papery white with the lenticels, like black eyes, unblinking upon their trunks, there could be heard the unmistakable noise of rushing water. A minute more of walking and Segundus had arrived at the brook. It was slightly hidden down a grassy embankment, lined with underbrush and brambles. Segundus gingerly picked his way through the brambles, wincing as a few grabbed at his ankles through his stockings, until he stood at the water’s edge. It was indeed a lovely little brook, babbling away cheerfully as it wound its way over smooth river rocks and emerald mosses before disappearing around a stand of dark pines a ways further east. It was clear and clean and Segundus could see small orange and yellow fish flitting about here and there beneath the reflective surface of the water, like the flashing of gold coins in the early morning sunrise. 

It looked very inviting, and so he quickly bent to remove his shoes and stockings before dipping a tentative toe into the rushing water. The coldness of the brook made him suck in a surprised lungful of air, for it was more intensely chilly than he’d anticipated. He took a deep breath to prepare himself for the shock, and sank one entire foot in. 

Immediately, the cold water leached all of the heat from his foot and ankle, and the cold began to climb up his leg, riding the blood in his veins, up into his groin and then his belly and up his chest. He gasped as the coldness enveloped his heart and crept up into his throat and spread all the way up his face to creep chilling fingers across his scalp and up to the very crown of his head. He felt completely, shockingly cool all over his body and, fearing that all the heat be leached from his veins, he quickly stepped back out of the brook and onto the grassy embankment, and stood there, gasping and tingling all over. 

To his delight, Segundus now felt more comfortable than he had all summer. He was no longer sweating, and his skin felt cool and smooth, as if he had just bathed the entirety of his body and not just his one foot. Childermass had given him some valuable advice indeed! He waited there by the bank for a few moments to allow his foot to dry, and to simply revel in the pleasant feeling of not being hot. 

In the way that heat will suppress normal human needs, that then become noticeable again once the heat is alleviated, Segundus realized that he was frightfully hungry. He always ate less in summer, as the oppressive mugginess killed his appetite, but now, feeling calm and perfectly cooled off, he felt a sharp pang of hunger in his belly. His eyes happened to glance down at the mossy embankment and there at his feet, was a wide palm leaf, and upon it was a pile of dark, succulent looking berries. 

_Hmm_ Thought Segundus. _That is a funny thing_. Perhaps someone else knew of this secret brook and had picnicked beside it the previous day...had left this delightful pile of berries here by mistake? He was sorely tempted to bend and pick up the berries and eat them, for they were a delicious looking dark purple color and gleamed like gems against the green of the palm frond upon which they rested, but he, being a magician and not a fool, knew that one did not simply eat strange piles of berries that appeared at one's feet near babbling brooks. They could easily be some sort of faerie enchantment. Instead, he decided that he’d better hurry back to Starecross to get himself some gruel and some toast, as he was indeed frightfully hungry. He put his stockings and shoes back on and headed back west. 

It did not exactly occur to him to be alarmed that food should appear before him the moment he wished for food, for he was cool and comfortable and in good spirits and felt light and airy as a feather as he made the short walk back to Starecross Hall. Nor did it occur to him that he should mention this strange event to anyone else. In fact, he felt quite the opposite. That he should keep the secret of the fantastic brook to himself, lest it be swamped with hot and sweating students and there would no longer be room for him to cool himself in it. 

Segundus was very pleased to note that his feeling of being cool lasted for several hours that day. It wasn’t until probably three o’clock in the afternoon that he began to feel the first vestiges of heat prickle again at his upper lip in the form of the sweat that beaded there, and the irritating hotness that was starting to gather under his neck cloth and across his chest under his shirt and waistcoat. Still, the brook had afforded him most of a day’s relief from the incessant high temperatures. He would certainly return there on the morrow in order to cool himself off again. The berries were all but forgotten with the business of the day’s classes. 

True to his word, he taught the students the sheet-cooling spell Childermass had shown him, and was greeted by many happy exclamations of relief in return. 

He’d meant to thank Childermass and to tell him how lovely the spell and the brook had been, but the man stayed frustratingly out of reach for the majority of the day. It appeared that he was quite busy with the handling of Vinculus and with doing some research in the library, for after classes were finished for the day, that is where Segundus found him.

“Good evening Mr. Childermass,” Segundus said gently, not wanting to bother the man where he sat, bent over a book, clearly lost in its pages. Childermass looked up and when he saw Segundus, he smiled, and Segundus felt as if that smile had knocked him back a step, felt it like a physical thing that hit him in the center of his chest, for it changed Childermass’ face in a way that Segundus had never had he pleasure of witnessing before. 

“Good evening Mr. Segundus,” Childermass replied, politely placing a bookmark in the pages of his book and closing it, giving Segundus his whole attention. “How did your classes fair today?” he asked. “I take it the cooling spell was happily received?”

“Oh yes indeed!” piped Segundus, glad to have something to talk about so that he did not stand and stare at Childermass like a fool. “The students are quite excited to try it. Also, I wanted to thank you very much for your recommendation that I dip my feet in that brook you mentioned. It was startlingly refreshing and kept the heat off me for the majority of the day today.”

Childermass nodded and smiled again, quite warmly. “Good. I’m glad you could make use of it. I only stopped by there once myself, but I was surprised at its effectiveness.” 

“It was quite cold, yes. I wonder if it flows down from some ice capped mountains somewhere,” Segundus mused. “Well, in any case, thank you again. I am quite grateful for your help.”

Again Childermass nodded, in simple recognition of Segundus’ thanks. Segundus found that he had nothing else to say, but that he did not wish to leave just yet. He ended up standing and looking at Childermass, who looked calmly back at him.

The silence stretched out uncomfortably. Uncomfortably for Segundus that is, for despite the fact that meeting Childermass’ eyes in this way made him feel a bit dizzy and flushed with more than just the heat of the summer evening, Childermass seemed as calm and collected as always. 

“Would you care to join me in my research?” Childermass asked after a few more beats of silence, that were accompanied by the pounding of Segundus’ heart in his ears. “I have been looking for references to the Raven King’s book that might help me to understand what is written upon Vinculus’ skin. I am not having much luck so far, and as you are just as familiar with these volumes as I am, it would be helpful to have a second pair of eyes.”

“Certainly!” replied Segundus, “In fact, I believe there is mention made of the King’s Book in _Wastrel’s Compendium of Magical History_. I have a copy in my room!” Before Childermass could reply, Segundus had run upstairs to his bedroom. After a brief scrabble through his piles of papers, he found the volume he sought and hurried back downstairs to the library. 

He and Childermass spent the next hour in intense study of several books of magic, and in trading thoughts and theories on the contents of Vinculus’ writing. Once this subject had been duly perused, their conversation fell to Vinculus himself. 

“Is it not a continual burden to be saddled (quite literally) with a man such as he?” Segundus asked, not wanting to be rude with his question, but knowing that Vinculus’ less than stellar personal qualities were well known to all who met him and so unlikely to cause Childermass much offense. “He seems dreadfully difficult to keep out of trouble.” 

“That he is,” acknowledged Childermass with another small grin. “Being that he is the living embodiment of the Book of my King though, he is worth every stolen loaf and spilled bottle and every angry housekeeper chasing after him with a broom. He is worth all of that trouble and more if only we can find a way to translate his skin.” He became thoughtful then, looking down at his hands, which lay, large and calloused, folded in front of him on the library table. 

“And despite all of the trials he puts me through, he is sometimes quite good company,” Childermass continued. “He has so many humorous stories and filthy limericks to entertain me with, and it cannot be argued that he is an interesting person.”

“Are you and he...friends then?” Asked Segundus, feeling a strange flash of envy that Vinculus, a shabby, crusty street magician turned vagabond could have so much of Childermass’ time, could be so close to Childermass every day, while he himself was only the headmaster of a school where Childermass sometimes stayed between journeys about the countryside. He had never fancied himself to be a man prone to envy, and so this feeling was both confusing and concerning to him.

“Yes, I suppose he is my friend,” replied Childermass, and perhaps he sensed something in Segundus’ tone, because he looked at him then and added “but a man may have more than one friend, may he not?”

Segundus felt himself flush with heat all the way from his chest to the top of his head. “I suppose,” he responded weakly. “I think perhaps it is time for supper,” he said then, shaking himself a little and rising swiftly. “I must see that the students are behaving themselves. I, I wish you a good evening Mr. Childermass sir,” he stammered, and then he fled the library, still blushing, a nervous twist in the pit of his stomach. 


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning dawned just as stuffy and hot as the morning before, and it was with a whistle and a bounce in his step that Segundus set out once again for the babbling brook. Today, he planned to dip both feet in the water, to see if he could keep himself cool for the entirety of the day, for if one foot chilled him until the afternoon, perhaps two feet would keep him cool and comfortable into the evening? 

Along the way, his thoughts strayed to the conversation between he and Childermass the night before, and of how Childermass had said those words that had thrilled him so. 

_ A man may have more than one friend may he not? _

The implication within that short sentence… well… it made Segundus feel a soft, gentle warmth unspool inside his chest. A warmth that was wholly unconnected to the heat of the day. To think that he and Childermass could be  _ friends _ , companions...that such an elusive and exciting person as John Childermass would see Segundus as a friend was exhilarating to him. And that they studied magic together, and that Childermass had taught him a new spell… it was quite enjoyable for Segundus to consider these things. 

When he arrived at the brook, he was pleased to find that the brambles and underbrush at its edges seemed less wild and easier to traverse. The brook itself seemed to him a bit wider and a bit deeper, though he knew logically that this made no sense. Perhaps it was only his gratefulness at knowing of its power to cool him that made it seem more impressive today? He eagerly removed his shoes and stripped off his stockings, for it was a particularly hot morning, the air feeling dense and thick as porridge, and he was anxious to cool himself again in its frigid waters. 

This time, after taking a deep, bolstering breath in preparation for the shock of the icy waters, he stepped one then the other foot into the brook. The cold was again startling and he gasped at the suddenness of it. But, just as before, he felt it climb up the length of his body, cooling him and soothing him as it went, until he felt comfortable to the very tips of his hair. 

Instead of stepping back out of the brook immediately however, this time, he lingered. It was such a lovely morning, without a cloud in the sunny sky. The trees, mostly birches, tall and pale and pretty, like young maidens in white chemises, with a smattering of dark green pine trees and wide maples provided a bit of shade and the water was dappled here and there with bright spots of sunlight. The breeze ruffled his now dry hair and brushed softly against his face like the fingertips of a lover. 

He looked up and suddenly realized that he was not alone in the brook, for a figure was before him, also standing in the water like himself. He should have exclaimed in surprise, would normally have yelped in fear to be confronted with another person, so suddenly and in such a remote, silent place as this, but he felt no such anxiety. The figure itself was quite indistinct, seeming to be little more than a collection of shadows with the vague form of a head and a pair of shoulders, two arms and two legs, barely differentiated from the mass of swirling darkness that made up it’s torso. 

It occurred to Segundus distantly, that he should be terrified by this eldritch apparition, and yet, he was not. He felt only curiosity and a deep sense of calm as the icy waters continued to play about over his feet and around his ankles. The figure moved, shimmering and undulating as it approached, seeming to have about it something of the rippling currents of the water through which it walked, and it reached out a hand, or what passed for a hand, and rested it upon Segundus’ shoulder. Segundus did not flinch, did not pull back. Instead he stood and watched passively, overcome by a strange sort of calmness as the shape coalesced and became more and more detailed. Soon, it became clear that this was the shape of a human man. The form developed thicker shoulders and those shoulders became covered with a linen shirt and dark waistcoat, the material spilling across and down it as if made of some sort of paint, and a face began to take shape from the formless shadows of the figure’s head. A swirl of dark colors resolved themselves into long, gleaming strands of chestnut brown hair, falling around a handsome face with soft brown eyes. 

Before too long, Segundus realized that he was looking at a person he knew quite well. John Childermass stood before him in the brook. He was in his shirtsleeves and they were rolled up to his elbows, just as they had been the other evening when they’d spoken outside the kitchen door. His hair was pulled back as it always was, and just as it always was, there were strands of it falling loose about Childermass’ face. Segundus itched to reach out and tuck one such messy collection of strands behind the other man’s ear, and in the present moment, this did not seem unusual or too forward at all. And so that is what he did. 

Childermass’ hair felt cold and rough beneath his fingertips, as if it were made of seagrasses rather than human hair, but he paid this no mind, for when he had tucked the strands behind Childermass’ ear, Childermass smiled at him. And oh what a smile! It transformed his face from it’s usual, rough sort of handsomeness to a princely beauty that took Segundus’ breath away. 

“Mr. Childermass,” Segundus murmured, feeling dizzy and weak and not at all like himself. “I did not hear you approach.”

Childermass did not respond, he only stepped closer to Segundus and placed his other hand on Segundus’ other shoulder. Segundus gasped, for Childermass’ touch shot tendrils of tingling coldness through the flesh beneath his jacket, and yet, despite the discomfort, he could not help but feel a sparking sort of excitement that the other man was standing so close, was touching him in such an intimate manner. He felt a pulse of heat inside his belly and his throat grew tight and his heart began to pound. Childermass smiled again, so beautifully, and stepped even closer, and Segundus realized that these feelings of envy and esteem he’d held toward the other man for all this time were in fact something far more than simple admiration. He did not only want to be more  _ like _ Childermass. Additionally, he wanted to be far far  _ closer _ to Childermass as well. To touch him and be touched by him. The thrilling tingle in his stomach and the confusing flushing of his chest and face whenever Childermass was near, it spoke of something above and beyond simple appreciation for Childermass’ intellect and magical prowess. Something that was at this very moment echoed so beautifully in Childermass’ soft brown eyes as he drew closer and closer still. 

Segundus felt drawn in by those eyes, eyes that echoed with a knowing sort of glee, as if Childermass could sense Segundus’ feelings of ardor and knew that he was consumed with want and delighted in this knowledge. Segundus allowed Childermass’ arms to wrap gently about his shoulders and allowed himself to be pulled closer. By the time he realized that Childermass meant to kiss him, there was no part of him that did not want this as well, no part of him that did not long to be held and kissed with every fiber of his being, so much so that his body thrummed with desire at the imminence of such an event. 

And kiss him Childermass did. He lowered his mouth to Segundus’ and pressed their lips together. Segundus sighed a weak, helpless sort of sigh and surrendered himself to the feeling of Childermass’ cold mouth against his own. He brought his arms up and around Childermass’ waist and pulled him closer still and leaned into the kiss, moaning softly with how desire flared sudden and insistent in his loins. His breath came quicker and his skin tingled beneath Childermass’ hands and lips. 

Despite the thrill of being held and kissed by one he just now realized he had longed for for years, it dawned on Segundus that he was growing quite faint and that he had begun to shiver. Childermass’ body, likely also cooled by the frigid waters of the brook, offered no heat to warm him, and the lips against his own were like ice. The throbbing hotness inside Segundus, that had flared as their lips had touched, was fading quickly, leaving nothing but frosty chills behind it.

He felt a stab of sudden fear and he broke free from the embrace and stumbled backward, watching with wide eyes as Childermass’ face contorted into a look of frustration. It seemed that now he had found his voice, for he spoke, reaching a hand out to Segundus as Segundus stepped backward toward the bank, toward dry land and the warmth of the summer morning. “Wait!” Childermass said urgently. “Wait my love! Do not flee so quickly, for I have much more I wish to show you!”

Despite how exciting this prospect should have seemed to Segundus, he could not help but fear for how cold he had become, and with a pang of regret, he turned away from Childermass. It seemed to him that the edges of the brook were farther away than they had been before he’d entered it, and that the waters had risen somewhat, so that they now rushed about his knees, chilling him further. It took him several slow, dragging steps through the rushing water in order to reach land. Once there, he fell to his knees, gasping with the coldness that still lanced through his feet and arms and legs. He crawled to the nearest patch of summer sunshine and collapsed into it, shivering. 

After some long moments, he felt the heat of the sun begin to soak into his clothing and warm his cold skin, and his breath and the beating of his heart slowed. Eventually, he felt strong and warm enough to stand, and as he did so and looked around, he saw that the stream was now empty. Hadn’t there been someone here before? A special someone? Had he not been given a kiss? He struggled to recall the details of what had just transpired, but found that he could not. He remembered stepping into the stream, and remembered a handsome man who pressed cold lips to his own, but could not now recall who it was, or indeed how he would have found himself in such a scandalous situation. Being kissed in a forest brook? By a dashing stranger? It was not at all something Segundus could see himself agreeing to. Not that it wasn’t very appealing as a prospect, only he had his reputation as a school headmaster to think of, and he had never, in all the days of his life, acted upon such urges. To touch other men. To kiss them. He kept such feelings very closely guarded, for fear that someone would discover his secret leanings. 

He tried with limited success to bring back a clear memory of what had just transpired, but as his body warmed to a safe temperature and he walked away from the stream, he felt the experience fade and drift away in his mind, until he forgot it almost completely. The only thing that he could now remember was a pair of soft brown eyes, gleaming with mischief. 

He reached Starecross Hall with just enough time to have a cup of tea, and received some strange looks from the cook and from Mr. Honeyfoot when he wrapped his hands about the cup as if to warm them. 

“You look a little pale Mr. Segundus,” Honeyfoot remarked, leaning over his breakfast plate to peer at Segundus with concern, his kind eyes crinkling at the edges. “Are you feeling well?”

“I am well, Mr. Honeyfoot,” Segundus replied. “It is only this terrible heat that has me feeling a little drained. It is nothing serious.” 

Honeyfoot nodded, but the glint of worry in his eyes did not ease. He rose and wiped his hands on his napkin before heading off to teach his morning class on the use of herbs in magical spells. “Perhaps you should conduct your classes in the shade today then sir,” he said before he left. “To keep the sun off of you,”

Segundus nodded at him but in truth he did not feel too hot. In fact, he felt quite chilled. Memories of having cold, wet feet and the sound of rushing water kept coming back to him in flashes, but he could not for the life of him remember why. He had gone somewhere this morning had he not? 

There was also a small, niggling feeling of having done something shameful, and this was very worrisome, as Segundus always tried his best to be considerate and proper, did not smoke or gamble or drink to excess. Yes, he sometimes felt things that were not quite in line with perfect propriety, but that was all inside the contents of his mind, and not reflected in his daily actions. What could he have done that made him feel shame? He would think on it during the day today and see if he could recall what had happened. 

To his surprise and dismay, this feeling of having mistepped and done something shameful came into sharper focus when he spotted Childermass in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, sauntering toward the kitchen, pipe in hand, hair spilling messily down his back. Why would the sight of Childermass bring him shame? It was a concerning development. Perhaps upon speaking to Childermass later today or this evening, he could help devine the source of these feelings. Had he said or done something rude to Childermass? Sometimes Segundus spoke without thinking, but if he ever caused offense by way of some mistake, he was swift to apologize. 

The afternoon wore on as it usually did. Segundus went over his lessons with the students, encouraged them to change this or that hand movement or helped them with the pronunciation of this or that word. He helped little Gertrude, only sixteen years of age, to summon up a bright pinpoint of light between her hands and smiled warmly at how very happy this made her. He assisted Thomas, a massive lad with a shock of red hair to help the flowers at the edge of the garden grow new blooms and had Frederick practice a spell of binding over and over again until he could join a ripped page back together. He so loved working with the younger students, as they had not spent the entirety of their lives being told what could not be possible the way some older adults had. They were fresh and open of mind and eager to learn. 

He spotted Childermass several times that day, for the man seemed to always be hanging around the edges of wherever Segundus happened to be. When Segundus sat with a circle of students around him, instructing them on the finer points of spells of finding lost things, beneath the shade of a large oak on the edges of the garden, Childermass could be seen leaning against a nearby tree, puffing on his pipe. When Segundus went to the kitchen to fetch a cup of water, Childermass came in shortly afterward to fetch a bottle of beer for Vinculus. When Segundus paused for a midday cup of tea, Childermass came in and sat at the kitchen table. This time, their presence in the same place at the same time, with both being free for a few moments, allowed them to talk. 

“How go your lessons today?” Childermass asked. He had his deck of tarot cards out and was shuffling them in his hands and he cast an inquisitive look in Segundus’ direction. Segundus sat down opposite him at the kitchen table and put his teacup down in front of him. The strange beat of shame in his belly was there when he looked at Childermass, and it had him off balance, confused.   
  


“They are going well,” he replied, purposefully maintaining a tone that was light and unconcerned to hide his anxiety. “It is such a joy to work with the students as they are finally beginning to catch on and make progress. They light up like lanterns the first time they successfully complete a spell.”

Childermass grunted in response and nodded, showing his agreement. When he spoke again, it was not about the students. “You seem tired today sir,” he said, and began to lay out his cards one by one. “Pale and tired. Are you ill?”

Segundus should have known Childermass would not mince words. And indeed, he _ was _ feeling tired. And he had developed, of all things in this murderous heat, a chill. But he did not want anyone worrying over him, least of all Childermass who was so very unaffected by changes in the weather. So he shook his head gently. “No sir, I am not ill,” he replied. “Yes, I am a bit tired I suppose. The heat is quite relentless.”

At this point, Childermass had laid out a full complement of cards in front of him and was studying them intently. He seemed almost to have not heard Segundus, for he was silent for quite some time. Segundus was about to finish his tea and go back to class when Childermass made a gruff noise in the back of his throat as his eyes roamed back and forth over the rough, hand drawn pictures on the well worn pieces of paper. “It is more than just the heat,” he said, “something is sorely amiss.” He looked up at Segundus and his eyes had gone sharp and inquisitive. 

His eyes. 

There was something about Childermass’ eyes that caused a shuddering chill to make its way down Segundus’ spine and had him swallow a sudden lump that had risen up in his throat. He’d seen those eyes recently, and it had not been inside the walls or grounds of Starecross Hall. But that made no sense. 

“Sir? Mr. Segundus sir?” Childermass was speaking to him, but Segundus had not been listening. He was staring blindly at a point a little over Childermass’ left shoulder and his mind was somewhere far away, the feeling of cold lips pressed against his own echoing hazily inside his memory.

“Sir!” Childermass’ sharp tone snapped Segundus back to reality and his eyes twitched back to Childermass’ face and regained their focus, which only served to make him feel that strange stab of shame and confusion he’d been plagued by all day. 

“I...I...must get back to my classes,” Segundus stammered and he rose from the kitchen table clumsily, knocking his teacup and spilling some tea in the process. He barely cared, for all he needed in that moment was to escape, back outside, away from the sight of those soft brown eyes, now narrowed with suspicion that were tracking his every move. “Have a p-pleasant afternoon Mr. Childermass sir,” he managed to choke out as he barrelled through the kitchen door and hurried back to his students, leaving a confused looking Childermass in his wake. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that this is the second johnsquared fic I've written, and in both there are two versions of Childermass. I suppose I subconsciously like Segundus being torn between two Childermasses for some reason. Emotional Segundus sandwiches with Childermass for bread? Who knows what's up with that. Hope you enjoy :)

Segundus woke to the unusual sight of the tops of trees arching over his head, fluttering green against the bright blue sky. He was clearly outside, and though it was late summer, and though the early morning sunlight filtered warmly through the whispering leaves of the trees, he was cold and shivering. How had he woken up here, and not in his bed at Starecross Hall? With a soft groan, he rolled over and saw that he had been lying on his back upon the banks of the brook in the woods. The babbling water rushed by not more than a foot or two away, and he lay on the grassy bank with soaked shoes and stockings, his teeth chattering from the cold. He had had quite an erotic dream he now realized with a shameful flush. Someone, a handsome someone had been touching him, tentatively, but with a skillful tenderness that took his breath away. He remembered a cold, wet mouth at his mouth, and then at his neck. Firm hands, also cold, had pressed against the front of his breeches and he had felt lust, flaring sharp and hot in response. 

Now though, those lustful feelings had faded and he lay, exhausted, shivering and confused on the bank of the brook in the woods. He must have had the presence of mind to step out of the water, but the most concerning thing was that he had no memory of coming here in the first place. The last thing he remembered was reading by candlelight before bed last night, but even that was hazy and piecemeal. He’d gone to bed early, he remembered now, complaining of an aching head and a chill. He’d felt so weak and tired, despite not having done much to exert himself during the day. He did not recall falling asleep, nor waking. He definitely did  _ not _ remember walking the quarter mile through the sparse woods east of Starecross, nor of having a salacious tryst in the brook with a strange gentleman, for it was dawning on him now that it had likely not been a dream, but an actual occurrence. 

No...no, it had not been a stranger he realized. A memory tickled at the back of his brain, a memory of long chestnut hair and soft brown eyes and a well formed mouth, a mouth that caused sparks of lustful flames wherever it touched him. He recalled the feeling of strong arms, strong yet cold, wrapping around him. But then the memory faded again. His breath hitched and he coughed, a dry, hacking convulsion that went on and on as he rolled over and tried to rise from the bank of the brook. It took him several tries to get to his feet, and when he did, he staggered away from the brook and back toward Starecross Hall with as much speed as he could manage. He walked with the shambling gait of a man who had not eaten nor slept in many days, and he was still wracked by chills. The memories of his experiences in the brook were already fading as he came out from under the shelter of the trees and felt the now welcome heat of the morning summer sunlight hit his face. He stood for a moment, at the edge of the woods and simply basked in the heat of the sun for a few long moments, feeling it return a little bit of his strength. 

Mr. Honeyfoot was in the kitchen, along with Childermass and Vinculus when he stumbled through the door and fell into a chair at the table. “Mr. Segundus!” he exclaimed in alarm, “you look a fright! Are you ill?”

“I am not ill, only feeling a little cold and weak this morning,” replied Segundus, reaching for a cup and the teapot with white hands that shook. 

“Nonsense,” this from Childermass. “I shall go and fetch the doctor. You are white as a sheet and you look as if you have not slept in days.”

“That is a very good idea Mr. Childermass,” chimed in Honeyfoot, his voice tight with worry. “I would be most grateful if you would fetch the doctor as quickly as you can. I would go myself, but my knee is acting up.” 

Childermass nodded and gave Vinculus a stern look “Do not cause trouble while I am gone,” he said. Vinculus responded with a yellow grin and reached to grab a piece of ham off of Childermass’ plate. 

Segundus was very distressed. Some part of him that he did not quite recognize was telling him insistently that he should  _ not _ under any circumstances see a doctor, but another, clearer and more rational part of his mind knew that he was fairing very poorly and that medical attention was indeed a wise thing. “You needn’t bother, Childrmass,” he said weakly, trying to rise, to refute the claims that he was ill, but then embarrassingly, he fell back into his chair with a moan and found that he could not quite catch his breath.

“Get him into bed,” Childermass said to Honeyfoot, who nodded. “See that he has plenty of water to drink and that he is kept warm.” 

“But Mr. Childermass, it is so warm already,” Honeyfoot reminded him. “Would not more heat be a hindrance to his recovery?”

“He shivers,” Childermass said by way of explanation. “He shivers and he looks as if he has just been tromping through the snow with no shoes on. It would be best to cover him up with blankets until his chills abate.” 

Honeyfoot was finally persuaded to keep Segundus warm, and as Childermass left the kitchen to fetch Brewer and head to Starecross village for the doctor, he showed Segundus to his truckle bed in the sitting room and made him lay down on it. He then covered Segundus with a small pile of blankets and asked him repeatedly if he needed anything to eat or drink. Segundus refused all of his offers, saying that he had classes to teach. To this, Honeyfoot huffed a disbelieving laugh and told him that his classes would be covered by one of the other instructors, Hadley-Bright perhaps, or Levy. Segundus tried to argue, but found to his dismay that he lacked the strength to do so with any authority. Instead he accepted his fate and settled down under the blankets, teeth chattering and skin twitching with shivers. 

He must have slept, for he woke now and then with a start as someone walked through the sitting room, or let the kitchen door slam behind them, and once when someone, the cook probably, yelled at Vinculus to keep out of the pantry. 

He woke again when the doctor arrived, and he was poked and prodded and told to open his mouth. A cool hand was placed to his brow and he was given a spoonful of some foul tasting liquid, and was blessedly allowed to wash it down with a cold cup of tea. After this, he sank back into a fitful sleep. 

He came to consciousness some indeterminate time later. All he knew was that it was now dark, and his bedside was lit by a lantern, turned down low. He was damp with sweat, and Childermass was sitting in a chair by his bed, reading a book by it’s dim light. 

“Mr. ... Mr. Childermass…” his voice came out like a dry rasp.

Childermass was immediately attentive, putting the book down on a table at his elbow and leaning forward to peer at Segundus, curiosity and concern mingling in his eyes. “How do you feel Mr. Segundus sir? Are you warmer now? Have your chills abated?”

Segundus nodded, struggling to cast off the now-oppressive pile of blankets that Mr. Honeyfoot had heaped on top of him. Childermass swiftly rose to help, and pulled all of the blankets off save one and the sheet. “You were delirious,” he said as he folded the blankets and put them over the arm of a chair next to the bed. “You were talking nonsense about eyes and ice and...and other things.” His voice went shy and Segundus had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of what he could have been babbling about while he slept. 

“It...it occurs to me that I have not been well, that I am very sick,” Segundus said, stating the obvious, and he heard Childermass’ snort in response. “I do not know all that I said while delirious, but you must know that it was said while I was quite ill and not of sound mind.” 

“I’ve heard worse,” Childermass said by way of reassuring Segundus and Segundus found that it worked. He was able to relax back against his pile of pillows and breathe easily for a moment or two, allowing his body and mind to return to full wakefulness. He still felt faint and exhausted, but at least the chills had left him. 

“What have you been up to Mr. Segundus?” Childermass asked, sounding just a bit like a disapproving chaperone, and Segundus flinched. The shameful feeling that he had done something wrong returned with a vengeance as he looked at Childermass sitting beside his bed, yet he could still not understand why. “You have had your hands in something magical sir,” Childermass continued, frowning, “It is coming off you in waves, and I saw it over and over again in my cards. The Moon and The Devil, coming up again and again. I need you to tell me what it is, for if you do not, it will surely kill you.”

Segundus considered lying, for the truth, that he had so little memory of what transpired, and the memories that he  _ did _ have were so very lascivious and confusing...it was quite embarrassing. 

“Come now sir,” Childermass seemed to sense his hesitation. “You may tell me, for I have been out on the ocean and have lived on the streets. There is little you could say that would shock me or make me think you foolish.”

Segundus was still loath to confess what he had done, had been doing, but… since Childermass was unlikely to give up, he grudgingly decided to tell him most of what he remembered. “The brook that you recommended for cooling my feet the other day…” he began, and watched as Childermass nodded his recognition. “Well, I went there two days ago...was it two days ago now? It must be. In any case, I went there as you recommended, and I stepped into the water and it did do a very good job of cooling me off. So good in fact that I returned there the next day. Only when I went back, there was a person there I had not seen before.”

“A person?” Childermass voice grew sharp and he leaned further toward Segundus, casting his eyes into pools of shadow, his shoulders hunched, hands clenched in his lap. “Which person? Someone you knew?”

“That is what is confusing Mr. Childermass sir. At first, I did not recognize them, but something about them changed and they...they began to look quite familiar indeed. And this person, they, they called to me… they...touched me.” 

“Did they harm you?” Childermass was very intent now, his voice as he asked this held a note of protective anger, and Segundus flushed in response. 

“No, not quite. This is where it becomes quite embarrassing. I should really not say.”

“Did they...did they perchance attempt to… to seduce you?” Childermass asked, clearly choosing his words with tact and care so as to not make assumptions. “Did they do things that could have been construed as a form of...how shall I put this sir, of… physical courtship?”

Segundus looked down where his hands were folded upon his lap and nodded, feeling his face burn with shame and embarrassment. “Yes,” he replied softly, wishing he could pull the covers over his head and hide from Childermass’ knowing gaze. The shadows cast by the dim lantern light that hid the other man’s face, mercifully saved him from having to see his expression. 

Childermass did not respond how Segundus assumed he might, with mockery or derision or disgust. Instead, he put his face in his hands and let out a long ragged breath. “Mr. Segundus sir, I must beg you to forgive me,” he said, his voice thick with regret. 

“Forgive you…?” Segundus was unsure he had heard the other man correctly, “whatever for?”

“It was I that told you to go to that brook in the forest and to cool your feet there. If I had known it was under an enchantment...if I had known such dangers lay beneath its waters, you must understand sir that I would never have...I would never…” He rose then with an exasperated huff and began pacing the sitting room, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

“You did nothing wrong Mr. Childermass. You were unaware of any magical element, and shamefully, neither was I.” Segundus was just beginning to realize now how very stupid he had been. How had he not felt the magic in the brook? How had he not known to tell someone of its enchantment? He should have had some indication, what with the strength of the effects the brook had on him, on his mind and body. 

“No!” Childermass’ voice was loud in the still darkness of the sitting room, and it made Segundus jump. “No, you are not at fault in the slightest Mr. Segundus. It is I who is to blame. I should have thought twice… I should have known better, I ... it is a lapse of judgment that I shall not soon forgive myself for. It was unconscionable to recommend that you go anywhere in these woods by yourself. I was not thinking.” His pacing increased in speed, and his chest was rising and falling, his jaw clenched. “It is only that you seemed so miserable, and I swear, the stream had no feeling of magic about it when I visited years ago. It must have become host to some sort of pernicious spirit between then and now.” 

Segundus was quite taken aback. John Childermass was known for being calm and in control of his faculties, for facing adversity with wry wit and patience, and here he was, very clearly unsettled and very upset. “It is not your fault, really Mr. Childermass I-”

“I must remedy this!” Childermass had not stopped pacing, and Segundus, weak and sweaty and unable to stand on his own, had no choice but to watch him. “It is my doing and I must remedy it. I will go to this stream tomorrow and have it out with this spirit!”

It was then that Segundus remembered the shape and appearance of the person that had embraced him so tenderly and coldly in the stream with shocking clarity. It had looked exactly like...like… “Oh no! Mr. Childermass no! That will not be necessary!” he struggled to sit up further, only to fall back against the pillows again, unable to find the strength to move more than a little. “You need not put yourself in danger for my sake! I will promise never to return to that brook in the woods. We shall tell the students of the enchantment and we need never go near it again!” And now he was remembering the hunger he had felt and the pile of mysterious and tempting looking berries that had appeared shortly after realizing he was hungry. The brook’s magic...the enchantment… it must show him things that he desired...berries when he was hungry, and when he felt amorous, a handsome man who looked just like… _ oh dear god _ . Now Segundus felt the twinge of shame he’d been haunted by return, sharp and sickening in the pit of his stomach.  _ Childermass must never know! _

He struggled to stand and, fueled with desperation, ended up making a good go of it, getting unsteadily to his feet and standing next to his truckle bed, wobbling a bit with weakness and fear. Childermass, who had at this point in his pacing, been on the far end of the sitting room, hastened to his side, grabbing his elbow in an attempt to make him lie back down, but Segundus was determined. He shook his head and tried to pull his arm from Childermass’ grip. “I cannot let you put yourself in danger for my sake,” he repeated weakly, but then, the blood rushed from his head and he grew faint. His knees buckled and he nearly collapsed. 

Childermass caught him with an arm about his waist and tried to lower him to the bed, but reflexively, Segundus’ arms had found their way around Childermass’ neck and he clung there, and they ended up pressed against each other, their faces very close. Segundus looked up into a pair of wide, soft, brown eyes and felt his breath catch in his throat. He felt Childermass’s arm tighten protectively around him, and saw Childermass’ eyes flicking about his face before settling decidedly on his mouth. 

“Mr. Childermass,” Segundus whispered, his head spinning, feeling the warmth, the real, human warmth radiating from Childermass’ skin beneath his clothing. So unlike the icy coldness of the likeness that dwelled in the brook. “Mr. Childermass, I - I cannot let you go,” 

Childermass chuckled. “I beg to differ Mr. Segundus,” he said, his voice gone rough and soft all at once, “It appears to be  _ I _ who cannot let  _ you  _ go, for if I do, I fear you will fall to the floor.”

Segundus remembered then that this embrace, that felt so very thrilling and warm, was only due to the fact that Segundus lacked the strength to stand on his own. He felt his cheeks catch fire, and his shameful feelings returned in a rush. He’d gotten caught up in the delightful feel of Childermass’ warmth and in their sudden closeness. He’d started assuming things that were not true. The enchantment of the brook must be playing games with his mind, even now. He untwined his arms from around Childermass’ neck and keeping his eyes cast down, allowed himself to be lowered onto the truckle bed again. Childermass pulled the sheet and blanket up around him and stepped back to sit again in his chair by the bed. The absence of his nearness and warm body allowed Segundus’ brain to function at something approaching normalcy again. He was on fire with embarrassment and fear and he dared not look at Childermass. 

“Mr. Segundus,” Childermass’ voice was solicitous, patient, kind, and Segundus flinched at hearing it. “There is no possible way to leave the brook as it is. What will happen when someone else stumbles across it and becomes embroiled in its curse? It would be very irresponsible indeed for us to simply leave it be.” He must have seen Segundus’ tortured expression, for he hurried to add, “you must not feel ashamed Mr. Segundus. You were not to blame for any form the water spirit may have taken, or the things it may have resorted to to try and seduce you. I know that you are a good and kind man and thoughtful of the needs of others, and you need not be embarrassed. As I said, I have been places and have seen things that would shock you. I doubt the spirit can do worse.” 

“But..Mr.-”

“I shall go myself. You do not have to accompany me, and I will not bring Honeyfoot or any other instructor with me either. I will make sure I am heavily guarded against its influence, and I will cast a spell of banishment and rid the waters of this troublesome sprite and be back in time for tea. I doubt that it will reveal itself to me in the same way it did to you, if it changes shape at all. And that will be that. Please, Mr. Segundus, you must allow me to remedy this wrong thing I have set in motion. If not, or if the brook claims another victim, I shall never forgive myself.” He paused here and took a deep breath, “it will already be a struggle to forgive myself for the harm it has done to you sir.”

Segundus was too weak to argue, and so he simply nodded and settled back against the pillows. “You must promise to be extra careful Mr. Childermass. For it will not do to have two enchanted magicians instead of one.”

“Of course. Of course I will be very careful.” Childermass reassured him. “Now get some sleep. I will go there when the sun rises, and you may stay here and have breakfast and rest.”

Segundus nodded again, and felt the fear and shame drain away enough to allow him to relax. He was more comfortable than he had been in a while, and he began to struggle to keep his eyes open, so tired was he from his recent ordeals. Childermass rose and went up to his room on the second storey, and Segundus drifted gratefully off into a deep sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Segundus woke, or rather, he came to consciousness, and realized with a start that he stood again on the banks of the babbling stream in the woods. He should have been quite alarmed, but he was not. He perhaps should have turned and fled, but he found he had no desire to do so. It was very early morning indeed, with the sun barely peeking through the dark trunks of the trees, the shadows of which lay long and black across the rushing water. 

A small, weak part of Segundus’ mind felt dismay at being back here at the brook, but it was overwhelmingly contradicted by a feeling of calm happiness and a strong pull of something deeper and more compelling… romantic longing? The desires of the flesh? He was weak and he felt cold, but more than this, he wanted to be held again, to be kissed and told pretty things. He wanted to see those gentle brown eyes again and feel the touch of those cold fingertips against his flesh. Wanted it the way he wanted food and water, the way he wanted the air that rushed in and out of his lungs as he stood gasping with exhaustion and lust by the brook’s edge. 

As if the brook had heard his soundless call, a murky figure rose from the water and resolved itself into the shape and appearance of John Childermass. This time, Childermass wore no clothing, and Segundus knew he should really have averted his eyes, but instead he let his gaze play shamelessly over the bare chest and strong shoulders of the man who rose up from the water, glistening in the gray, early morning light. How lovely Childermass’ long rippling hair looked as it fell about those pale, bare shoulders. How well muscled his arms were and how lovely the shape of his hands. Segundus let his eyes roam lower and took in the gentle swell of Childermass’ belly, the trail of dark hair that led his eyes lower still. 

A soft chuckle made him look up to the man’s face again, and there it was, that beautiful smile, and oh how it made Childermass’ eyes sparkle, and oh how those eyes contained such a heated invitation. “Come and join me my love,” said Childermass, saying things that Segundus had longed to hear him say. “Come and play with me in the water my dearest love.” 

Without thinking, Segundus stepped forward, into the icy brook. This time, he felt numb, felt no discomfort as his stockings and shoes became filled with cold water. It was as if he had not stepped away from the bank at all, for he felt perfectly comfortable. He waded the few steps that brought him near Childermass, and then he paused, feeling uncertain, some part of his sense of propriety returning to him in a very belated fashion.

“Mr. Childermass sir,” he said, flushing furiously with heat at being so close to the other man’s wet nakedness. “I am not certain this is proper, to be meeting this way, out in the woods, and you with...with no clothing on.” He tried to avert his eyes from the man’s glistening wet body, but found it entirely impossible to do so. Even this small attempt at modesty was taking all the resolve he possessed, for he knew that he was holding himself back from falling into Childermass’ arms only by force of his swiftly fading will alone. 

Childermass smiled a wicked smile, one that made Segundus’ stomach twist with excitement. “Do not be concerned for the laws and morals of silly Englishmen,” he said, “for we may be together here in the cold water as much as we like, and no one shall ever be the wiser.” Childermass reached out to Segundus and gripped him by the arm, stepping closer. Those lovely brown eyes had gone a little flinty and determined as he drew near. “Do you not long to kiss me?” he asked. “Do you not long to feel my touch upon your body? My mouth against your neck? My hands beneath your clothing?”

Segundus wanted all of these things very much, and yet still, he hesitated. He had a memory, a recent one, in which he had been embraced by a Childermass who was warm, not cold. In whose embrace he had felt protected and supported. That other, warmer Childermass had not talked about kissing and touching, had not beckoned to him with promises of pleasures of the flesh. Instead he had caught and supported Segundus when he had almost fallen. And why had Segundus almost fallen? He had felt very ill had he not? 

“You are thinking overly much. You do not need to worry your pretty head with thinking,” this cold, naked Childermass interrupted his thoughts with a more persistent tone. “Come my love, my dearest darling. Come give me a kiss, and we shall see what other delightful things we may do together.” 

Segundus felt his resolve melt away. He could not hold back a moment longer, not while the one he wanted, the one he had  _ always _ wanted, stood now in front of him, naked and gleaming and calling to him so sweetly. He stepped forward into Childermass’ arms and felt them come around him and hold him tight in their cold embrace. 

Childermass’ mouth pressed against his own once more and he accepted the kiss with a happy sigh. He reached up with both hands and wrapped them in Childermass’ long hair. That the hair felt cold and thick and like seaweed did not bother Segundus, for it was Childermass’ hair was it not? And Segundus had always found it quite lovely. And the lips pressed against his own were cold and wet, but that was of no importance either, for it was Childermass’ sweet mouth he was kissing, and what matter if his lips were cold?   
  


Segundus began to feel weaker and more chilled, just as he had before, and he felt himself start to shiver. He noted that Childermass did not smell like he had smelled that last time he had held Segundus in his arms. Warm Childermass had smelled of pipe smoke and coffee and just a hint of stale sweat. He had smelled sweet and musky and very very good. This colder Childermass smelled of fish and sea grasses and mud. It was not so violently unpleasant as to make Segundus want to step away however, and so he let the kiss continue. He felt chilly fingertips working to undo his neck cloth and then the cold lips against his mouth moved to caress his neck. He sighed and leaned his head back, enjoying the feeling of being kissed there, in that sensitive place near the junction of his shoulder. At the same time, the cold fingertips were now worming their way up under his waistcoat and his shirt and spreading out against the skin of his belly like streaks of ice against a window pane in winter. He gasped with their frigid intrusion against his skin and this time he jerked back a little. The arms around him however, only tightened. 

Segundus realized that he was now very very cold indeed, and that his strength was bleeding out of him quite quickly, along with any vestige of warmth his body had so far managed to retain. His knees buckled and he heard an approving sort of grunting noise from Childermass, whose mouth was still clamped to the side of Segundus’ neck. From somewhere in the distance, Segundus could hear someone calling his name, but it was far away and likely he was imagining it. His strength gave out and he fell to his knees, cutting them on the sharp rocks of the stream bed, and he cried out at the pain, sharp and sudden. This caused Childermass, who had followed him down effortlessly without breaking contact, to make another happy sound and the suction of the mouth against his neck grew stronger, as if it were sucking out his very soul through the skin on the side of his throat. Segundus was shivering in earnest now, and he could no longer feel his arms and legs. 

“Mr. Segundus!  _ Mr. Segundus! _ ” There it was again. His name, yelled in a panicked voice, by someone who was by now far closer. He wished to open his eyes and turn his head to see who approached. He felt a slight twinge of embarrassment prickle across the surface of his addled mind. To be found, kneeling in a cold brook, embraced by John Childermass, in such a delicate position, it would get them both in a lot of trouble. 

“Mr. Segundus! Hold on! Do not give up yet! Hold on sir! John!  _ John! _ ” The voice was growing louder and nearer and more desperate, and it sounded familiar. It sounded like Childermass’ voice in fact, and yet that made no sense, for Childermass was  _ here _ , holding Segundus in his embrace, mouth to Segundus’ neck. He could not very well make such a racket with his mouth occupied thusly could he? 

There came a loud splashing and suddenly, Segundus felt an arm come around his waist, and he was being forcefully pulled away from Childermass. He cried out and tried to fight the one who was working to pry him out of his lover’s arms, striking out with fists and kicking with his legs. Neither of these actions did him much good however as he was now as weak as a newborn kitten. “No!” He screamed, struggling against the arm that yanked him from Childermass’ embrace and toward the bank. “No! Let me stay with him! Let me stay!” 

It was no use, for he found himself dragged to the bank of the stream and then dumped unceremoniously upon the grass. “Stay there for God’s sake,” said a gruff voice that sounded very familiar indeed. He found that despite his anguish, he could do nothing but lay there, his back to the brook, gasping and exhausted, his strength all but gone. 

“Why did you not let me stay?” he asked weakly. “I love him, and he loves me too. I want to be with him. Let me go back! Let me go back!”

He did not have the strength to lift his head to see what was happening behind him, he barely had the strength to speak, to keep breathing. There was a pause, and then more splashing, as if the someone who had pulled him to shore was now forging their way back out into the water. He heard Childermass’ voice, shaking with some unnamable emotion, chanting the words of a spell, and he felt the tingle of magic being done prickle across his scalp and gather behind his eyes. And then he heard the most horrid scream. A sound of utmost grief and pain, and he knew that his love, his dear dear Childermass must be dying. 

He sobbed uncontrollably, clapping his hands over his ears and pulling his sore, bloody knees up to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible as the scream went on and on. “No, no, no, no. Please don’t. Please let him be. He’s done nothing wrong,” he whispered against the wet grass, for he lacked the strength to say it any louder, and he could not bear to look back at what was transpiring in the brook. After a little while, the scream cut off abruptly, which was a mercy, for Segundus could not have born hearing it for much longer. The person who had dragged him to the shore returned with a series of loud splashing steps and then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Segundus sir! Are you alright?”

Segundus could not believe his ears, for it was Childermass’ voice that he heard. Yet, Childermass had just died in horrible pain out in the brook. He let himself be rolled over and looked up, blinking tearfully in the now bright morning light and saw Childermass’ worried face peering at him from above. He was fully dressed and mostly dry. 

“Mr. Childermass!” Segundus exclaimed, and tried to scramble into a sitting position, but he did not get far for his arms and legs felt as if he had swum ten leagues in rough seas. “I thought you were dead! I… I thought some horrible person killed you! I heard the screaming and it was so, so awful.” His head ached and his whole body shook with cold and he could not for the life of him discern what had just transpired. 

“It was not I sir that was killed, it was the water spirit that had you in her clutches. She is the one who perished,” Childermass said, his eyes tight with worry, his mouth set in a grim, determined line. 

“She?” Segundus was still mightily confused. Childermass promised to explain everything, but asked if Segundus could walk, for they should get him out from under the shade of the trees and into a larger patch of sunlight to warm him up again. Segundus said he would try, and with Childermass supporting most of his weight, they managed to hobble the short distance to a blazing patch of morning sun where Childermass helped Segundus to sink down again upon the now dry, warm grass. 

Once Segundus was settled, sitting cross legged, Childermass sat opposite him and endeavored to explain. “The creature that I pulled you away from, the creature who was...well… embracing you...in the water, she was most likely a Rusalka. An evil water spirit. I’ve heard tell of them in Polish and Russian folklore, but that does not mean they cannot exist elsewhere as well. They are usually the ghosts of women who meet their end in violent ways, and their ghosts mix badly with faerie magic and they can become eternal wraiths that haunt small lakes or streams such as this. Their only goal is to drag unsuspecting people to a watery grave, as an act of formless, senseless revenge for what was visited upon them in life.”

Segundus blinked. “But...it certainly did not look...female,” he said, swallowing thickly and aware that he was blushing what with the fierce heat that had crept into his face. He had not meant to admit to his desires so openly, but he was still lost and frightfully weak, and the sight of Childermass, alive and warm, sitting before him had him feeling giddy and reckless. 

Childermass did not show any sign of disapproval at Segundus’ confession, he ignored it and carried on explaining as if Segundus had not just said something unthinkable. “Yes, it can take any form it wishes, and erm...usually… the shape it takes depends on whom it is trying to capture.” Here it was he who blushed and looked down at the patch of warm green grass between them. For a long moment, neither man spoke. 

“Did you happen to see the shape it took? Did you see it clearly?” Segundus asked, heart in his throat, fearing Childermass’ response, but needing to be sure, for he’d never be able to look the man in the eyes again without knowing. 

“I think I may have,” Childermass replied softly, twisting a few blades of grass between his fingertips, still not looking at Segundus. “It appeared...somewhat familiar.”

“Mr. Childermass-” Segundus began, but just then, they heard a rustling in the underbrush. Segundus, realizing that they were sitting quite close to one another, guiltily leaned away from Childermass, just as Mr. Honeyfoot, red faced and sweating, along with Hadley-Bright and Levy appeared from behind a stand of trees. 

“There they are!” Yelled Honeyfoot triumphantly as he limped up to them, the other magicians in tow. “We feared we’d lost the two of you,” he said, as he leaned over, putting his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“I am sorry-” Segundus began, but Childermass stopped him with a motion of his hand. 

“It was not Mr. Segundus’ fault. He was taken with quite a bad fever and went wandering in the woods in his sleep. I should have been awake to watch him, but I was upstairs and did not hear him leave. He fell into yon brook over there and got himself soaked to the bone. Luckily, he’s feeling better now. Are you not Mr. Segundus?” He looked at Segundus with brows raised expectantly. 

Childermass had effectively explained away the whole situation, and because, regrettably, Segundus was known for coming down with fevers and colds, and for growing faint at the drop of a pin, the story was an embarrassingly believable one. Segundus nodded. “Yes, he tells the truth of it. And yes, I am feeling much better now. I am frightfully sorry for all the trouble and worry I’ve caused.” He replied with a wan smile, realizing that he was feeling better indeed. His chills had receded somewhat, and the fog that had addled his brain appeared to be lifting now that the Rusalka was gone and the hot summer sunshine was seeping into his flesh. He must remember to thank Childermass for thinking so quickly the next time they were alone together. 

The very thought of being alone with Mr. Childermass again however, after the man knowing (or hinting at knowing) that it was his own likeness that had embraced Segundus in the stream? It caused him to burn with shame and apprehension, and he fell silent and cast his eyes down at the blazing green grass in front of him. 

“How did you find us so easily?” Childermass asked. “We could have gone in any direction. Was it magic?”

“It was Vinculus,” Honeyfoot replied with a wry grin. “He told us of how Mr. Segundus had been taking morning walks in this direction for a few days now, and that it would be the best course to try first.”

“I shall have to thank him then,” replied Segundus, finding the nerve to speak again somehow.

“I think an extra glass of port and one of cook’s meat pies will be far more welcome than any words you could bestow upon him,” Childermass replied, grinning, and Segundus could not meet his eyes, but he nodded his agreement nonetheless.

With Childermass and Hadley-Bright’s help, Segundus was able to limp back to Starecross Hall, and after some half hearted complaining, he was put back into his truckle bed in the sitting room, only this time, he was not heaped with blankets, for his chills had all but disappeared. He was however still very weak, and his knees had been cut to ribbons. The doctor was fetched yet again, and Segundus’ wounds were cleaned and poulitices of mustard seed and thistle were applied and he was told quite firmly that he was to stay in bed for the rest of the day. He complied, if only because he had to, for he was still too weak to stand and walk about on his own. The Rusalka had drained him almost completely, and had Childermass not followed him that morning, he would surely have been dragged beneath the waters of the brook and drowned. 

The knowledge of this, that he had almost died at the hands of the vengeful water spirit weighed heavily on his mind and in his heart. He did not like that he had been so thoroughly enchanted and so completely duped by the evil sprite. And above and beyond that lay the horrible shame that Childermass likely knew the shape that the Rusalka had taken. His secret, that he held feelings for Childermass that did not fall within the bounds of propriety or decency, was now splayed open and revealed, and this made Segundus feel quite vulnerable and mortified in the extreme. 

He did not see Childermass for much of the remainder of the day, and when he did, it was always in the company of Honeyfoot, or Vinculus, the latter who stopped by to compliment Segundus on still being alive and well as he munched on a meat pie. Childermass stood by while Segundus thanked Vinculus for pointing the rescue party in the right direction, but his face was impossible to read.

The evening descended and Segundus slipped easily into an exhausted sleep, and dreamed of running water and cold fingertips against his skin. 


	5. Chapter 5

Segundus awoke and was relieved in the extreme to be lying in his truckle bed in the sitting room of Starecross Hall, rather than standing ankle deep in a freezing cold brook, out in the forest. His sleep had been plagued with nightmares of Childermass’ sneering face and the cold caress of the Rusalka’s touch.

His relief was short lived however as his waking mind brought back the memories of what had transpired the day before. How Childermass had rescued him from the clutches of the water spirit, and how in doing so, he had learned Segundus’ shameful secret. That he wanted Childermass in a way that was unnatural and unrequited. With the banishment of the Rusalka, his memories had returned in full, and with them, many painful realizations of the things he’d said and done. He had...kissed and been kissed by an evil sprite in the shape of John Childermass. He had let a creature wearing Childermass’ face and body touch him in ways no one had touched him before, and now...now the real, flesh and blood Childermass knew this as well. The knowledge that Childermass could divine the creature’s form and shape caused Segundus to descend into paroxysms of shame. He moaned, curling onto his side and pulling the sheet up around his shoulders, hoping to hide from the world. 

This was when he saw the cup of tea. It was steaming hot, and so it must have been made recently, and it sat on a little wooden table that had been placed by his bedside, just far enough away to avoid being knocked over should he thrash in his sleep, but close enough to be grasped easily if he were to sit up and reach for it with purpose. Next to the steaming cup of tea sat Childermass’ pipe, the tobacco inside the bowl had recently been smoked for it was half blackened. 

“The tea is for you sir,” came Childermass’ voice as he entered the sitting room and strode over to grab his pipe from the table. Segundus felt the blood drain from his face, and then, moments later, return in a rush of heat. 

“Oh,” he replied, training his eyes on the buttons of Childermass’ waistcoat rather than on his face. “Thank you. That’s quite kind of you.”

“It is hard for a man to wake properly without something hot to drink,” Childermass replied as he went to light his pipe and sat in a nearby chair, puffing on it. He might have looked at Segundus, but being that Segundus refused to raise his eyes to Childermass’ face, he could not tell. Instead, he reached for the tea and blew on it. The hot spell of the past several weeks seems to have broken, and the thick, hot blanket of humidity in the air had dissipated at last. 

“Once you’ve drunk that down, I will see what to do about you getting some food,” Childermass added, and Segundus was relieved that his voice was even and calm. He could not detect a note of anger or apprehension, although to own the truth, Childermass was not the most expressive of gentlemen, and so perhaps he only hid it better. 

He knew that he must speak to Childermass alone...in a far safer and more private place than the sitting room of Starecross Hall, but he lacked the courage to broach the subject. Luckily, it seemed Childermass held no such reservations.

“I feel it best if we talk, you and I,” he said, between puffs of smoke.

Segundus nodded miserably, unable to speak, and so Childermass continued. “When you are feeling better, perhaps after supper this evening, would it be permissible for me to come to you in your room to discuss the matter?” He need not specify which matter it was, for they both knew only too well what was to be talked about. 

Again Segundus nodded. “You may,” he said, knowing he must give his verbal assent, but wishing he could simply disappear under the covers and never have to see Childermass again. He was being brave because it was the only mature solution. And if he were to get the unpleasantness over with, it would be best to forge ahead quickly, rather than draw it out. 

“Good. I shall knock at half past eight, after I have made sure Vinculus is safely installed in our room with a bottle of something to keep him happy.” 

“I shall expect your visit at that time then sir. Thank you for everything you have done.” Segundus dared to raise his eyes to Childermass’ face and was surprised to see a look of sadness there.

“You should not be thanking me sir, but we shall talk more on that later tonight.” And with that, Childermass rose and left. 

After finishing his tea, Segundus was able to make it up to his rooms to wash and dress himself, feeling a little wobbly, but much improved. Charles offered to accompany him, but he politely declined, saying he must build up his strength and stand on his own two feet. After completing his toilet, he descended back down to the kitchen, where Mrs. Lennox, who had come straightway upon hearing that Segundus had taken ill, pushed several different plates of ham and potatoes and bread and butter on him and tutted about the state of his clothes and hair and how pale and thin he looked. He afforded her a few watery smiles and found himself eating most of the food she offered, for he was in fact quite hungry. 

By midday, he was feeling much better indeed and wishing he could distract himself from his inner turmoil by teaching his classes again, but Honeyfoot refused to allow him to do so. His friend was insistent that Segundus must, at minimum, take this day to rest and heal from his ordeal. Falling into a freezing cold brook when he already had a chill? It was no small thing, and Segundus had better drink many cups of tea and sit quietly with a book for the remainder of the day. Segundus was familiar with his dear friend’s tendency to be a mother hen, and he felt warmed by Honeyfoots’ care and affection, but he balked at spending the day indoors. He informed Honeyfoot that he instead wished to sit outside in the shade, beneath one of the large trees in the garden to do his resting and reading, and Honeyfoot thankfully relented. 

And so he spent the rest of the day, pretending to read, while inside he was twisted up with anxiety and fear over what Childermass would have to say to him later that night. And yet, their talk would offer some small amount of relief in that his secret would finally be out in the open, and it could be brought up and then put to rest for good. Perhaps Childermass would wish never to see him again, or, perhaps Childermass wouldn’t be so explicit and would only take Vinculus and ride away from Starecross and not come back for a long time. He was certain that the sight of him must disgust the other man. And the memories of what he’d seen, Segundus, wrapped in the arms of a watery version of himself, well, they must be difficult for a man so staid and rough as Childermass to contemplate for long. 

It was confusing that Childermass did not seem angry, nor did he seem disgusted. He had been unfailingly polite and helpful, and this gave Segundus hope that perhaps they could simply continue on as they had been before this mess. That they could reestablish their friendship and spend time together in the study of magic and in the debate of magical subjects. If only Childermass would agree to be Segundus’ friend and collaborator, Segundus would be perfectly content to never wish for more. 

But even as he told himself this, while looking out blindly over the rolling green grasses and rambling rose beds of Starecross’ garden, he knew it was a lie. He would always want more. He would long to touch Childermass, to kiss him, to be wrapped up in his warm arms every day that he saw the other man. It was a desire that once fully realized, would not be easily suppressed. Segundus would of course never dream of attempting to touch Childermass in the ways he had touched the Rusalka, perish the thought! But inside his mind and heart, he would long for Childermass, and that would end up being quite painful as the years stretched on. Unless of course Childermass left, only returning now and then, perhaps once or twice a year, and only for necessity’s sake. Segundus was fairly certain he could stand to see the man infrequently. Otherwise, Segundus was consigned to a life of unrequited yearning. 

He went round and round in his head over the hopelessness of his situation and of all the ways in which it could end in pain and tragedy, so much so that it took Charles shaking him by the shoulder and reminding him that the bell for supper had been rung before he could snap himself out of his tortured musings. With the help of Charles’ hand pulling him up off the grass, he was able to rise and make his way inside. Childermass was there, seated further down the table next to Vinculus, and the two were involved in some sort of heated debate, the words of which Segundus could not quite make out over the chatter of the students and teachers and chaperones in the dining hall. 

A few times his eyes met Childermass’ and held there for a heart pounding moment, but each time, Segundus looked away, flushing with embarrassment.

After supper, Segundus excused himself and went quickly to his rooms. It was only half past seven and he had an entire hour until Childermass was to come knock upon his door. He passed the time fretting and rehearsing the words he planned on saying. By the time Childermass’ knock came at the door, at half past eight to the minute, Segundus was so wound up that he jumped at the noise. 

He rushed to the door and opened it, revealing a grim faced Childermass on the other side, and quickly ushered him in. Childermass entered and stood in the center of Segundus’ room, seeming unsure of what to say or what to do with his hands, as they were being clenched and opened absently at his sides. 

“May I offer you anything?” Segundus asked, “I have a bottle of claret...or I could have Charles bring us up some tea.”

“No, no thank you sir,” Childermass replied, looking as miserable as Segundus felt. 

“Won’t you have a seat then Mr. Childermass? It is too warm for a fire, but I will open the window and we may sit and talk by the hearth anyway.”

Childermass nodded, seeming grateful to have something to do, even if it was only to fold himself into one of the two armchairs that sat near Segundus’ fireplace. 

The two sat opposite each other for a little while in silence, until Segundus could not bear it a moment longer and spoke up. “Mr. Childermass-” he began, mustering up what little courage he had after a day spent imagining the worst.

  
“Please Mr. Segundus, I feel I must speak first.” 

“No sir, you must not,” Segundus knew that if he were to have any peace, he would need to spill out all of the pain and anguish he now held onto. For if he did not, it would only grow and fester and twist inside him until it exploded in some very inopportune way. He had none of the calm stoicism Childermass so often displayed. He was a man of very intense feelings and was not at all skilled at hiding them. “I have spent half the day in turmoil over what I must say to you and I think it best if I get it out as quickly as possible.” He finished, twisting his hands together in his lap, keeping his eyes fixed on the soot stained flagstones that made up the lip of the fireplace. 

“If you insist then, please, go on,” Childermass replied gently. 

Segundus took a deep, shaking breath and spoke, gathering every ounce of courage he had in order to keep the words from sticking and dying in his throat. 

“You must believe me when I tell you that I did not mean consciously to call up your...your image on the Rusalka’s face,” he began unsteadily. “It was not a spell I enacted consciously, and I did not purposefully wish it into being. It simply happened.” He paused for a moment, daring to sneak a glance at Childermass, finding him sitting patiently and listening, his face unreadable as usual. 

“But I would be a coward if I did not admit that it is secretly what I must have wanted for a long time now, although I do not think I knew it fully.” He paused then, feeling his gut twist with shame at the admission, but knowing that he needed to put the words out in the air, needed Childermass to know the full and real extent of what had happened. “I used to think that I only admired you for your steadfast nature and your skill with magic and your stoicism. I told myself it was nothing more than a companionable affection, from one practical magician and friend to another. But in truth, it was... more than that, and I was very ashamed to realize just how deeply I had...that is... how much I had…” he struggled to find words to express what he wanted to say, and felt himself start to feel panic flicker inside his chest at the daunting task he’d set himself. 

“You need not continue Mr. Segundus,” Childermass said softly, but Segundus refused to accept his pity. 

“Oh but I must!” He insisted. “For if I do not say the whole of it, it will haunt me, and if you do not know the whole of it...why sir, you must be permitted to make your next decisions with full knowledge of all that I have felt and done. Please sir, just allow me a few more moments to speak.” 

Childermass nodded, but he did not look happy. 

Segundus soldiered onward as bravely as he could. “I can never expect you to forgive me for my sickness, for the wrongness of my desires,” he said. “And I know I cannot expect you to want to see me again after today, but I had hoped that… that perchance we might be able to retain some of the friendship we once had...if I have not in fact ruined it beyond all measure-”

“I wish you to stop speaking now,” Childermass said gruffly, and Segundus ceased mid sentence, feeling as if Childermass had just pulled up hard on the reigns of a horse Segundus had been riding at breakneck speed across a flat plain. “You’ve said quite enough Mr. Segundus. More than enough. I cannot continue to let you apologize for what happened a moment longer, for it is not your fault.”

“But Mr. Childermass it is most certainly-”   
  


“Please Mr. Segundus. For the love of God shut up!” Childermass snapped, then seeing the shocked look on Segundus’ face, he sighed deeply and continued in a more measured manner. “Apologies sir, for my sharp tone, but _ I  _ was the one who advised you to go to that brook.  _ I _ was the one who sent you into the arms of that creature and almost lost you your sanity and your life. Early this morning, I had planned to rise at six o’clock, and go to face the creature. I had no idea that it was calling to you so. Or that you were pulled there without your knowledge in such a forceful way that you would wander away before the sun was up. I lay asleep in my room while you walked off to face what could very well have been your final moments.”

He paused, breath ragged and eyes full of strong emotion and seemed to try and center himself before continuing. 

“It was  _ I _ who set this whole horrible ordeal in motion,” Childermass said ruefully, “and it is no one’s fault but my own. You are utterly blameless. You could not help the contents of your own heart and mind any more than I can. You did not actively choose to keep returning to the brook, not after the first time you dipped your foot into it, for by then you were the creature’s slave. I have read about the Rusalka before, and I know that their attack is two pronged. Firstly they emulate someone or something appealing to their victims, and secondly, they take hold of the minds and the hearts of their victims and bend them to their will. It is a clever fantasm indeed and few have ever encountered their like and lived to tell the tale. It could have easily killed you, it could have-” and here he faltered, pressing a clenched fist against his mouth as if to hold in the next words he’d meant to say.

“When I think of how close you came to succumbing to its charms,” he continued. “When I think of how close I came to ...to losing you...well you must believe me Mr. Segundus, to say I was distraught was a vast understatement.” 

Segundus was quite taken aback. Childermass’ face was a mask of anguish. He was clearly quite upset, with his brow furrowed and dark as a storm cloud and his jaw clenched. His hands were again making helpless fists in his lap and his eyes were full of a deep and wretched sadness. Segundus had never seen him this way, and it helped to drive home the sincerity of his words.

“But surely I could have fought harder,” he said, seeking to ease Childermass’ obvious sense of guilt. “It was my shameful imaginings that gave it the fodder it needed to draw me in. Had I not indulged in such horrible thoughts...could it have found purchase as easily as it did?”

“Mr. Segundus. You cannot be blamed for the contents of your own mind. You cannot control your thoughts, nor can you help who you desire,” Childermass said steadily, “and furthermore, I am more than a little insulted to hear you say that your feelings for me are ‘horrible’ and a ‘sickness’. I am not all that unpleasant to look at am I?”

Segundus blinked. He was unsure he had heard Childermass correctly. “I’m sorry?” He asked. 

“Is the thought of being in my arms so very terrible Mr. Segundus? It seems to bring you much pain and unhappiness to think of doing so.” 

Were Childermass’ words not said with such gravity and intensity, Segundus would have assumed he’d said them in jest, but he seemed quite genuinely upset to hear Segundus refer to his desires in this way. 

“I...I do not find such thoughts terrible at all,” he stammered, confused. “Quite the opposite sir. I have thought many times of what it would be like to…” he shook his head. “Well, never mind the specifics. I only said those things because I assumed such a prospect would be abhorrent to you.” 

“It would not be at all,” Childermass replied, and Segundus could see the hint of a humorless grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “It would in fact be very agreeable to me. I must admit that I have been more than a little envious of the Rusalka, for she was allowed to hold you and kiss you and I have not been.” 

“You...you would want to…” Segundus felt his courage falter and dissolve beneath the sheer enormity of Childermass’ confession. His mind ran hither and yon, competing with the heat of his neck and cheeks for the right to be the body part that most betrayed him completely to confusion and anarchy.

Childermass stood and began to pace back and forth across Segundus’ bedroom floor. He seemed suddenly agitated, and Segundus rose as well, though he kept his distance, allowing the man the room he needed to do his pacing.

“I should have said something sooner, but I suppose I was laboring under the same assumptions as you have been,” he said. “It is hard to know the contents of another man’s heart and mind, and though you can be somewhat transparent, it behooved me not to make assumptions. You were always so kind, but you are kind to everyone. You always looked at me in a certain way, but I could not tell if it truly differed from the way you look at others you are generally fond of...Honeyfoot, Mrs. Lennox...Charles. It was….I could not be certain. Still, I have been a fool. I should have come to you sooner. I should not have let you sit with your thoughts all day today. When I caught you in my arms the other night, I thought I saw something… some glimmer of interest that might match my own, but I … I could not rightfully tell, and you were ill besides.” 

Segundus was fairly certain he had not heard Childermass string this many words together at one time in all the years he’d known him. His pacing had increased in speed, and Segundus feared that the thumping of his footfalls would bring someone to the room to inquire if Segundus was alright, and so the next time Childermass passed nearby, he reached out and grabbed him gently by the upper arm. Childermass immediately ceased his pacing and turned to look at Segundus and the two of them froze in place, eyes locked for a moment. 

“Please, Mr. Childermass,” Segundus began softly, keeping his eyes trained to Childermass’ only by sheer force of will, for they burned with a dark heat he had not seen, not since Childermass had urged him to do the magic that day in Lady Pole’s room. “Are you saying sir that you return my feelings?”

Childermass let out a breathy chuckle and smiled his one sided smile, seeming to let some of his fiery tension go. Segundus felt the muscles of the arm he gripped in his hand turn from iron to a softer material as the man relaxed. “I am saying Mr. Segundus sir, I am saying that I am quite completely besotted with you, and have been since I first laid eyes on you in Mr. Norrell’s library some ten years ago now.”

Segundus was struck dumb. He felt frozen to the spot, unable to move or speak. Luckily, Childermass was not similarly restricted. He stepped up close to Segundus and took his face in his rough, calloused hands. 

“May I kiss you please?” He asked, his eyes full of longing, saying it as a man who is dying of thirst would ask for a glass of water, and Segundus could do nothing but nod his assent. And then Childermass’ lips, warm and gentle were against his own. He heard Childermass sigh, as if in relief and he hummed in surprised pleasure at how very soft and warm Childermass’ lips were. 

It was then that he realized how the Rusalka’s seduction could truly not have been his fault, for the warm, tender,  _ human _ kiss of the man he adored was miles beyond the cold press of the icy mouth of the Rusalka. Segundus knew in that moment that he would never have allowed such a thing to be done to him had he been of right mind, and this knowledge swept a great wave of relief through him as he felt Childermass kiss continue, soft and delicate, as if he thought Segundus was made of egg shells and spider webs. 

Childermass’ hands left his face and he felt the man’s arms come around Segundus’ shoulders and pull him close. Unsure quite what to do with his hands, Segundus rested them on Childermass’ narrow hips for a moment then wrapped his arms around Childermass’ waist and pulled them even closer together. The kiss went on and on and grew deeper, and soon Segundus was breathless from it and so was Childermass. They broke apart briefly as Childermass insisted upon locking the door and warding the room against curious intruders. Once he had done so however, he swiftly gathered Segundus back into his arms and resumed kissing him, and this time, it felt as if they had always kissed one another. As if this was something quite natural and good and normal and Segundus wondered why they had stayed apart for so very long.

Soon, their hands began to roam and buttons began to be undone and neck cloths untied, revealing patches of bare skin that were quickly covered with urgent kisses. Childermass found a large, purple bruise against the skin of Segundus’ neck where the creature had tried to suck out his life, and he made a concerned noise and touched it with feather light brushes of his fingertips. Then he put his mouth to that spot and kissed it oh so gently and Segundus gasped in response. 

“Did I hurt you?” Childermass’ voice was urgent, and Segundus swiftly reassured him that no, this had been a noise of pleasure, not of pain, and Childermass smiled to hear it. And so the undressing continued, with much eager fumbling of clumsy fingers. It was Childermass’ hand that first breached the opening of Segundus’ waistcoat and his shirt to slip warmly against his belly, and Segundus cried out softly at the tickling friction of the man’s calloused palm against his skin. Soon, they had divested each other of all their clothing and stumbled to the bed and somehow found their way beneath the bedclothes, where naked now, they entwined their limbs and pressed close to each other, still kissing desperately. 

“John,” Segundus whispered against Childermass’ lips

“Yes, John,” Childermass answered him with the name they shared and smiled and reclaimed Segundus’ mouth with his own. 

Childermass’ body was oh so warm and soft and the feel of it, so very pleasingly banished the last vestiges of the memory of the Rusalka’s cold flesh. It was a gift to Segundus to feel the other man’s skin on his own, to feel that hot mouth caress his neck and chest. He moved against that softness and that heat and tried to pull Childermass close and closer still. Childermass’ hands, reverent and gentle, were gripping Segundus’ hip and wrapped in Segundus’ hair and Segundus tried his utmost to touch as much of Childermass’ body as he could reach with a trembling urgency. 

Childermass was patient and gentle, and then when Segundus moaned and urged him to be rougher, faster, he did so happily. He kissed a burning trail down Segundus’s chest and belly and lower still and enveloped Segundus in the heat of his mouth. Segundus cried out and arched into that velvety warmth, unable to quite believe the exquisite feel of the slick heat that surrounded him so. It was not long before he felt himself wound up tight like a sheet from the wash being wrung free from water, and then he was bursting, exploding in a sharp pleasure that took his breath away completely.

After he returned to himself, gasping and loose, he pulled Childermass on top of him for more kisses, sharing the taste of himself with Childermass in a way that was strangely quite thrilling. Childermass began to move against him, first gently, and then with more urgency, and he whispered soft sweet things in Segundus’ ear that grew less sweet and decidedly more filthy as he worked himself against Segundus. Segundus grabbed Childermass’ hips and urged him onward delighting in the feel of their movement, and soon the other man was stiffening and gasping against Segundus’ neck as he spilled his pleasure between their sweat slick bodies. 

They lay there together for a long while, limbs entwined, hands roaming lazily over slowly cooling skin. Segundus felt whole and complete, and at the same time as if his body had dissipated and spread into the air like smoke. Childermass left him briefly to fetch a cloth to clean them up with, and then settled back again in his arms and Segundus busied himself happily with running his fingers through the loose strands of Childermass’ hair. He marvelled at how soft it was, and again he knew that his enchantment had been beyond his control, for the rough, wet feel of the Rusalka’s hair had been like damp wool, and Childermass’ was like spun silk. 

“I need only a short rest,” Childermass murmured sleepily against Segundus’ neck, “and then I shall be quite ready to go again.” Segundus grinned at hearing this, for it was as if Childermass had read his thoughts like a book. He pulled the other man close and kissed his brow and sighed happily. 

“I feel as if I could do that many, many more times before this night is over,” he replied, but then a worry occurred to him. “But, we cannot let you sleep here, for what if a maid were to wish to enter to bring fresh water or linens?”

“That is easily remedied,” Childermass mumbled, sounding half drunk. “I have practiced the art of being unnoticeable for many years. I shall simply fade into your sheets and the maid shall be none the wiser. I shall resemble nothing more than a pile of blankets.” 

“You fancy yourself quite clever do you?” Segundus grinned as he turned in Childermass’ arms until they lay face to face, as close as they could be. 

“Not so very clever no,” Childermass replied in between kisses to Segundus’ cheeks. “Not clever enough to know that I could have kissed you far sooner.”

Segundus laughed softly and wriggled closer still. “I am sorry for that as well. We have much to make up for.”

“That we do,” Childermass replied as his fingertips drew languid patterns against Segundus’ low back. “That we do,” he repeated as he bent to suck gently with his mouth against the base of Segundus’ throat. “I say we should get to it at once. Do you agree?” 

Segundus’ heart was full and his skin sang beneath Childermass’ lips and hands and all he could do was nod, and then… then they did plenty. 


End file.
